The ambrosial mango from across the straits

First off though, I'd like to mention the newest application of my fear of commitment, at its most socially crippling. So, just outside the south gate of my xiaoqu, the gate we most frequently use, is a fruit-seller. We've been buying fruit there on and off since we moved in, but there wasn't ever really any sense of attachment. One reason for this was the eventual rotation of every person who has worked there-- usually it's operated by a single person every day from morning to night until that person mysteriously disappears and is replaced by a new person who does the same. Another reason is that there have been times when the selection of fruit was slightly under the par set by other fruit sellers citywide, or the prices still sounded a little higher in comparison. For these reasons, I've had no problems just taking my business elsewhere, though often I just grew too lazy to buy fruit at all.

Anyways, two days ago I decided to stop and buy a few mangos, when the jolly young male fruit seller decided to strike up a conversation with me. I guess sometimes you can't help but notice the comings and goings of two girls who speak English all the time and who also rendevous with old white men nearly every day right in front of your shop. But since then, I feel somehow beholden to this fruit seller, who, unlike other sellers, makes friendly conversation in lieu of speedy wordless transactions. Because now we have the bare construct of a relationship, I feel like taking the extra steps to go buy fruit elsewhere would be an act of disloyalty, even though probably no one even cares. Also, when I pass the shop now, will I have to make eye contact and small talk? Aaaaargh! These are the concerns that keep my from functioning like a normal person all of the time.

Whaaaaatever, this post is actually supposed to be about mangos. Sweet, succulent Philippine mangos. The Philippine mango is a goldenrod-hued ovoid fruit that is more slender than the mango we are familiar with in the US. There, it's possible to encounter it in the dried fruit section, but here, it's been mango season for a couple months now, and they're everywhere in their fresh golden glory. The first thing you notice, I guess, is the frangrance, and after looking briefly for where that smell is coming from, you'll find the mango. On the street, in a bag on the couch, its tattered peelings in the trash can, wherever, there's that haunting... melodic scent. Instantly recognizable as mango, only it does make you wonder why you've never smelled it this strong before.

These mangos you peel and eat like bananas, and it is a messy endeavor. You'll invariably have to wash your hands afterwards. The skin is pretty tender, and comes away easily, though sometimes you do have to tug a bit. Then you just tear copious amounts of mango flesh off the large pit in the middle, and finish by using your teeth to comb through the remainder of the pulpy fibers, much like whales do, for whatever vestiges of that sugary sweetness are left. If your vigilance wavers, the juice starts dribbling everywhere, and you get neon orange droplets slithering down your wrist, onto your kneecaps or the toes of your socks, and all over your chin. I'm usually pretty careful about this, and had a method that was working pretty well until today, when I just removed the whole mango from its jacket and ate it two-handed. For me, pretty soon the area around my lips and chin starts to burn and itch from the pectin, or whatever it is in fruit that I'm mildly allergic to, and I have to stop.

They've been selling mangos for several weeks now, and I've passed by several mango peels scattered on the streets. For some reason I just didn't want to go for it, under the illusion that these had to be approached like the ones back home: with a knife and a blindfolded sense of disappointment. It seemed like such a small mango would really suck to eat, with more pit than flesh, and a truncated length enjoyment. Also, I had no way of knowing whether they were ripe or not. But anyways, since my first mango a few days ago, I've been hypnotized and can't actually stop thinking about them. The flavor is inspirational. I've cycled through all the cooking possibilities but can't get past the delicious notion of just consuming them raw forever. Now I understand why mango ice creams and candies taste the way they do. This is what mango should taste like! The flavor's so rich and... yellow. These mangos taste like pure nectarine sunshine. Or like a Beach Boys song (a pretty one, about the beach)!

If you ever get the chance, I encourage you to embrace this fruit for a transcendental gastronomic EXPLOSION!